“Looking to view the world from a vertical perspective today?” Roosevelt taunts, taking far too much pleasure from my current predicament. I made the mistake of not making myself comfortable before using the ritual last night, so I got to spend nine hours with my neck tilted to the side and my face pressed into my phone.

“I’m not doing this with you, Roosevelt.” I say, trying to stop my neck from moving from its sideways position. “When you said quick, I figured it would be sleeping pill quick, not chloroform quick.”

“Your assumption that Eldritch magics would be of similar effectiveness as a drugstore pharmaceutical is both insulting and hilarious. Also, the word I used was ‘sudden,’ not ‘quick.’”

I pause in the middle of packing my clothes, narrowing my eyes. I'm not about to have a cephalopod use semantics against me. Facing him, I look into his little w-shaped eye and say, “You and your rituals are both rancid.” before turning around and ignoring his sputtering.

If I want to continue living something even remotely similar to my old life, I have to leave the Vanguard building today, and I’m feeling a bit bittersweet about it. It’s not like I don’t want to go home; in fact, I miss my family like crazy right now. Just… This is the most exciting three days I’ve had in my entire life, and I’m not sure I’m ready for it to be over. The people here are really kind and impressive, and I can’t help but wonder if this was my only chance to get close to them.

I pick up my aquarium photo, the glass having already been replaced without my noticing. I didn’t get to apologize to Naomi either, though to be fair, I didn’t really try to find her again. I got so wrapped up in all these new things about myself that I admittedly kind of forgot to think about her. That sentiment churns a bit of melancholy in my gut as I check under the bed for anything I might have forgotten.

Feeling like I’m forgetting something, I turn back to my sulking contractor; his body turned something like a greenish yellow. “I’m sorry I called you rancid, buddy. I can get a bit snappy when I’m in pain. Do you know if there's anything I’m missing?”

“I am unaffected... but thank you for the apology.” He responds, sounding at least somewhat mollified. “Lost item wise, you don’t have your phone like you usually do.”

Right as I’m about to tear through the bed for my phone, I hear it buzz from inside my box of things, and my shoulders slump. As glad as I am to have found my phone, I’m doubly irritated at having to repack all my stuff. I probably threw it in there this morning so I wouldn’t forget it, and then proceeded to forget it anyways in less than an hour.

I dig it out, unfolding several shirts on my way down.

Unknown number: “Hey, you said we could meet today?”

My brain goes feral for a moment, wondering who this is and whether I need to be worried.

Unknown number: “This is Revision, btw. We were going to talk about gifts for Menagerie.”

I relax, but then remember that I did, in fact, say we could do that. I didn’t expect Catherine would discharge me so soon, so now I’m stuck looking like a flake. I text him back as apologetically as I can

Brooke: “Hey! I’m unbelievably sorry, Miss Catherine discharged me early, so I don't think I can make it. I promise we still can, just not today! Sorry again, Revision.”

It takes him so long to respond, I start to think he’s pissed and just won't reply, but in the middle of me repackaging my clothes, my phone buzzes again.

Revision: “OK”

I just sit there for a second staring at my phone, no idea how to interpret that. Is he actually pissed? If anyone else had said that, I’d assume they were mad, but he also seems to be the technologically illiterate sort—and I mean that in the kindest way possible. Not willing to work myself up over a text that could mean literally anything, I shove my phone in my back pocket. How girl pants still don’t have big enough pockets to hold our stuff when we’ve developed drink fabricators and shit, I’ll never know.

“Grab the door, would you, Roosevelt?” I say, picking up the crate from the table. I stumble a little bit, my strength more than it used to be.

“You are fully aware it opens as you approach it; you’re just doing that abnormal thing where you treat me as a butler again.”

“What nonsense! You are my prized compatriot!” I return, twirling a fake mustache. “I’m aghast you’d even suggest it!”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“I did not expect to yearn for Silo’s lackadaisical habits, but I might prefer it to this nonsense.” He says, messing with me. Probably.

I see Catherine by the stairs, working on something as she waits for me. She looks up when she hears my footsteps, snorting when she sees my neck bending sixty degrees from its upright position. I act like nothing’s wrong, greeting her as I walk past.

“Morning to you too, lumberjack get to your neck this morning?” She asks, matching my pace as I head down the stairs.

“Aren’t lumberjacks, like, extinct as a profession?”

“As extinct as a profession can be, I suppose. Did Roosevelt teach you Silo’s nap spell, then?”

My silence is telling, though thankfully she doesn't press, giving the back of my head a light bonk instead. Relief floods through my spine, and I return my head upright like it should be.

“Old Ones, is there a pill version of you I can get somewhere? Not suffering through hours of soreness and cramps is something I could get used to.”

“You might not believe it, but yes. It involved my inspiration to rank three, and is exorbitantly expensive to make and purchase. We send them with our Vanguard on dangerous missions, a consumable all-heal of sorts.” She sounds really proud, but my brain gets caught on one part.

“You said it's expensive to purchase, but aren’t you the one producing them? Don’t you get to decide that?”

She actually blushes a bit at that, the wall of the stairwell being of sudden interest to her. “Well, the expensive to make part is still true; I need several rare items to make one, as well as a lot of power.” She pauses, probably hoping I’ll change subjects, but I know a "but" when I see one. ”But yes, I do have control over the price past that point. It’s just... Refills for the drink fabricator are expensive.”

I stop where I’m at on the stairs, disbelief crossing my features. “You overcharge on a literal magical ambrosia pill so that you can have more chocolate milk!” Her expression phases through several emotions: affront, a bit of defensiveness, and then resignation. “Overcharge is a bit harsh, I don’t actually make that much per pill... The people overcharging are the ones making the refills!”

She pinches her brow, embarrassment reddening her cheeks. “Outer gods, you’re worse than Silo was at this stuff.”

My smile is wide as I respond, “That's the second time I’ve been told that today.” And before she can ask, we make it to the bottom floor, and I get to see the lobby for the first time.

There's a massive half-circle front desk backed by an obsidian black water wall; the desk manned by several well-dressed receptionists. The diamond-patterned silver floor clacks as we step on it; the footstep absorption apparently only for the upper floors. Catherine composes herself, the redness leaving her cheeks as we approach the front door.

Both Sergeant Duff and Revision are standing to the side of it, waiting for us but not wanting to be in the way. Thankfully, Revision doesn’t seem mad at all, and actually seems a bit happy to see us.

“Glad I could catch you before you went, you never know when you’ll see someone next when you do what we do.” He says, before Duff waddles over, throwing something to me. “Aye, Ain’t that tha truth, lad. Here’s ya Doohickey, I found et last night, but yous was sound asleep by then.”

I open my hands, the projectile revealed to be a different shoggoth than mine, this one wearing a little plaid beret on its weird lumpy head. I hug it close to my chest, addressing Duff.

“Apology accepted, old man. Next time I won't just impress you, I’ll kick your ass altogether.”

His eyes sharpen, but his mutton chops bounce as he laughs. “Ha! Got balls, ya do. If I’m still kickin it by tha time yer ready, I’ll whallop ye again, lass.” I shake his hand, roughly, pulling him in for a hug.

Catherine opens the door of the building, revealing a sleek silver car without visible wheels pulled up outside. “Once you’re done with whatever weird sort of goodbye that is, your ride is ready, and already blocking some other people from pulling in.” I finish my hug, thanking him once again for the keychain. Revision gives me a fist-bump, and I walk to the car with Catherine.

She opens the door for me, but I just stand there with my arms open. Her unimpressed look doesn’t outlast my desire for a hug, so eventually she sighs and wraps me in her arms too. “I swear, you’re trying to undo every therapy session I have. Be safe, kid, I’ll see you in a few days.” I hug her tighter before hopping into the backseat. “See ya, Auntie,” I say before quickly closing the door, her expression priceless.

With the door closed, the car begins to pull away, though it's smooth enough that if I couldn’t see out the window I’d have no idea we were moving. I look up at the Vanguard building; its height so much more impressive from this close to its bottom. I can't help but wonder which room was mine. I had a view of the sea, so I guess one on the southside, but I’m not even sure what floor anymore.

Watching Barbeau go by, I see some of the buildings torn down during the attack already fixed, three days enough for Vanguard tools to print a copy of the old place back where it was. Did Vanguard Chassis have anything to do with it? I didn’t see a lot of him these last few days, but he didn’t really seem the social type anyways.

My eyes zone from the cityscape to the window itself, and I’m greeted by my reflection and a pair of eyes looking at me from the seat next to me. I whip around, panic gripping my heart only to find Naomi sitting there without a seatbelt, just watching me.

“Elder gods, Naomi, what the hell was that for?” I ask, unnerved by how she hasn’t blinked yet.

She finally blinks, looking down at the seat before meeting my eyes again.

“I feel bad for saying what I did. Not that you’ll remember this, but here's a note with a few of my thoughts and a warning. Something’s off, and I don’t know why it's you I want to tell this to, but—whatever. It's on the note. Try to remember to check your bag, if nothing else. Goodbye Brooke.” She says, before shoving a piece of paper in my bag, and wait, what?

I could have sworn I just saw a pair of eyes in the reflection. I look around, my reflection the only thing in the window. I... hm, something isn’t right, is it? I sit back, not sure why I want to, but nonetheless blurting out what's on my mind.

“I really wish I got to say goodbye to Naomi.”